Hollow
by Phira
Summary: Wars are never good especially to some. He had not expected this to happen. He had not expected the worst.


Title: [Hollow]  
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia Pairing: US/UK/Fr + Franada Rating: PG-16 + [because of language]

A/N: ;A; Finally after agonizing on several themes for a Hetalia related fanfic, I've finally settle with this one! Inspiration is credited to a few people close to me and for the people who got me really addicted to Hetalia and World History. I had to read few more materials about WW2 than to rely on my current knowledge. I'd gladly acknowledge some correction on history, grammar [I'm a beginner in foreign grammar, especially in French] and suggestions.

I'm not perfect as you can see ;A; Now I present you all my first "published" Hetalia fic: [Hollow]

This can also be found in the hetalia LJ community under my account phiradesu

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A blur of white and bustle of people dressed in sterile white clothing ran back and forth the disinfectant-scented hallway as a familiar British blonde was wheeled in on a stretcher by a Frenchman, a Canadian and, surprisingly, an American, all of whom were blonde and were are the edge of panick and hysteria."Anglettré ! Don't you dare die on us!" Francis hollered at the unconscious Brit as the three of them wheeled the bleeding man to the emergency room. "A-arthur...please hang in there..." Matthew pleaded in a futile way in between sobs. Alfred had something to say also but had to be cut before a single word could pass from his parched lips because of the doctors and nurses taking over and wheeling Arthur's non-responsive body to the sterile haven of the emergency room. The American bit his lip in nervousness and anxiety. And to think he thought by "lending" a hand in the war, Arthur wouldn't be in this kind of predicament.

"Dammit!" Al cursed, his fist meeting hard with concrete wall just beside him with such force. He ignored the pain that rocketed throughout his hand to his arm, but he didn't care. All he could think about is that the fact that he might lose his precious person at that moment. His vision began to blur as tears threatened to leak out but stubborn as he was he pushed them back the best he could. After all heroes don't cry.

Nope, especially not this hero. He won't cry. Not ever.

"A-al...?" Matthew began, a worried hand on his brother's shoulder in which the American brushed it off hastily. "Am rique, he will be alright. Arthur's too stubborn to die that easily." Francis pointed out in a humorous manner but he knew it was failed attempt to cheer up the former British colony. Somehow he, in a guilty manner, knew that although he "begrudgingly" helped out Arthur by loaning him 3.5 billion dollars, it would seem that it delt even more damage to the Briton.

"...Merdé ." the Frenchman uttered as he hugged the distressed Canadian tightly, his blue eyes on the American nation.

---

Earlier that day...

Alfred looked around the rubble that was once a bustling city, home to different types and kinds of people and of the person who meant a lot to him in so many ways. As his blue eyes looked around, he suddenly felt like hurling right there and then as he caught sight on some dislodged limbs and such here and there, a result of the frequent bombings that raided the city. The hair at the back of his head stood in ominous manner as the whole sight creeped him out in ways he absolutely did not like at all. "...Oh dear god. This isn't happening..." As he looked around for another time, he managed to see a familiar figure, no make that two figures, crouched over another who was sprawled on the floor. One of the figures looked back and the American instantly recognized him as his brother- "Matt!" he exclaimed as he ran up to the other blonde but stopped dead as he saw who was sprawled on the ground.

"I-iggy...?" Alfred murmured as he saw what state his former guardian was in.

The other man's head was on the Frenchman's lap, covered in bandages, along with his torse and limbs courtesy of Matthew's excellent first aid skills. However blood was stating to seep through the pristine white bandages, giving the impression that bleeding won't stop even if given proper first aid. Arthur looked like a heap of rubble, similar on how his surrounding looked. There wasn't a single part of his body that did not look bloodied or mauled by the war. He was on the brink of subconsciousness but that did not hinder the Brit from smirking up at his former colony. "...you're late git..." he managed to say weakly with a wince. "Angleterr you shouldn't talk too much." Francis frowned at Brit, his personality drastically changing for the sake of the situation they were currently in right now.

"You need to rest. We'll get you to a hospital..."

"...I'm ok you bloody git." he spat at the Frenchman, trying to assure them that he was okay by showing his fiesty side. However, it was a futile attempt because he was scolded by the American. "Fuck Iggy! What the hell is happening to you?"

"A-alfred... I don't think its the right time to be-" Matthew interjected but was cut short by Arthur, "Heheh....I think you'll get the idea..." he paused as another surge of pain ran through his already protesting body.

"...Arthur you idiot...!" Alfred snapped, grabbing the older man's collar despite his brother's and older brother's protests and shook the injured nation briskly. Arthur winced in pain as his body was shook his wounds screaming as they were opened forcibly by the motion. "Hah...hah...hah...looks like I'll....be sleeping...for a long, long time...." Arthur mumbled weakly with a small forced laugh, trying to be at least sarcastically and ironically humorous up to the last second, as his eyes began to hollow up and close.

"Fuck it! Arthur!"

"Anglettré !"

Matthew then suddenly stood up, fear and panic clear in his eyes, "We should really get him to the hospital! He's starting to bleed to death! Simple bandaging isn't enough to stop his bleeding!" the Canadian pointedly said as he began to sprint in order to find some paramedics. Francis held unto the cold hands of the Brit in a tight manner, a feeble attempt to warm them. "Merdé Angleterré don't go just yet! Can't you hear the cheers of your people? We've won the war! S'il te pla t! Open your eyes!" The Frenchman, who usually would be seen frolicking like a sex-crazed idiot, was different this time. Tears were starting to fall from his bright blue eyes, his broad shoulders shaking from the sobs that racked his frame. Francis mumbled a few sentences in French in his desperation as he held the lithe form of the Briton. It was quite clear that he loved the Brit and he was clearly not alone in those feelings.

Alfred couldn't do anything as he stared at the crying Frenchman. He was a hero. A hero yet why does he feel so useless and helpless as he stood there, doing nothing as his most precious person was slowly slipping away from their grasp. Clasping a hand over his eyes, he forced back the tears that were threatening to fall from his eyes. He didn't want this. Sure, he somehow hated Arthur for all of those thing he had done to him when he was little but somehow if it wasn't for those things he wouldn't be as strong as he was right now. But despite all of that hate he-

"Paramedics are here!"

-  
"He's fine...for now but somehow his heart rate's a bit low than normal, platelet count as well and his blood pressure too.-" the doctor in charge reported the three inside the room where Arthur lay, resting, safe from from Death's hands....for now. Matthew and Francis nodded at each of the doctor's words and even his instructions and list of medications for the Briton. Alfred on the other hand sat beside the bed in an usually quiet manner. He looked at the almost corpse-looking Arthur and held the hand nearest to him and squeezed it gently, a bit conscious on the dextrose needle that was poking out of the Brit's hand. "Everything's going to be alright... right Arthur?" he whispered, hoping that the Englishman could hear him. "Iggy..."

"Amerique, s'il te plait let Angleterré rest..."

"But Francis-!"

"Non. we have better things to discuss. You, moi and Matthieu." the Frenchman stated, his facial expression quite serious and grave.

Somehow, that look alone made the American shiver inwardly yet he nodded in compliance. As he followed Francis out of the room, Alfred took one more look at Arthur's sleeping frame to reassure himself before leaving completely. As they were completely out of the room, Francis turned to Alfred, and surprising both Alfred and Matthew, landed a manly punch on the blonde Ameican's cheek."F-francis!" Matthew squeaked as he held the Frenchman back, who in turn was showing complete anger and spite for the American, "Je suis d sol Matthieu, but I cannot stand being in the same room with this....this..." Francis couldn't finish his sentence and just held the Canadian's hand that were trying to stop him. "Pardon moi Matthieu, I cannot tolerate to see Angleterre in this situation." That somehow made Alfred laugh in a hollow manner, "Hahahaha! And that's coming from the person who hates Arthur...? Tell me that this is all a charade Francis. C'mon!" Alfred chuckled as he stood up and wiped the blood off the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

Matthew frowned openly at his brother and said, "Alfred...why? You knew that loan may kill Arthur...the war gave him enough damage and you saw that..." the two parties glared at each other for a few minutes before Alfred eventually sunk to the floor with his hands over his eyes. "I-I don't know Matt. He was asking for help and...and...I don't know. Somehow, when I loaned the money to him...I was wishing that he would eventually drop dead." The American looked up at his brother, the tears that he tried to hide so bad were flowing freely from his blue eyes. "...Honestly, I don't know what's gotten iinto me...."

Francis and Matthew looked at each other before Francis spoke, "Tell us Amerique..."

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Damn it removed some letters =_= Read and review please. CREATIVE CRITICISM PLEASE, no flames


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